


Sich vergessen

by literalfuckinggarbage



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Caleb Widogast is a Mess, Caleb Widogast's Backstory, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual widomauk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, POV Caleb Widogast, POV Switches Every Chapter, Self-Loathing Caleb Widogast, Suicidal Ideation, Torture, Vergesson Sanatorium, Warning: Trent Ikithon, nonconsensual drugging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalfuckinggarbage/pseuds/literalfuckinggarbage
Summary: Bren Aldric Ermendrud had been in the Vergesson Sanatorium for almost six years. He thought he was broken beyond repair. He was a monster, and he couldn’t handle the pressure or level of cruelty required anymore.Then an old woman clasped her hands on either side of his head and spoke some strange arcane words in a voice that seemed much more youthful than her appearance, in an accent he had never heard before. Nicodranas, perhaps? But it was like a veil had been lifted.He could remember everything. The real and the fake. Very little made sense, but Bren wanted revenge. First he needed to get the hell out of here.The aasimar and the purple tiefling dragging away the crazed old woman were probably his best bet at getting any answers.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 32
Kudos: 130





	1. Prologue: 0 The Fool: Beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitely suspend your disbelief on this one, folks (or imagine they're all gonna roll nat20s), this is mostly for character development/interaction/study (I'll do my best, but still)

### Beauregard Lionett

Beau sighed, raking a hand through her hair. Her undercut needed tending to, but she hadn’t had any time lately. She knew that she'd asked Dairon to give her more exciting assignments at the Cobalt Soul, but this was a lot of fucking work. 

She had needed to assemble an entire team of folks that would be unrecognizable to anyone in the Empire. Then the first cleric she found couldn’t lie worth a damn, so she went searching again.

The tiefling cleric she finally found came along with a nice half orc gentleman who could lie his way into the King’s Court. She really lucked out on that one. Of course the first cleric, the firbolg, had glommed onto her at that point, saying he wanted to help her do great things. Even if he couldn’t lie about it, he would be good for cleaning up what could be a disaster. Any he might actually make a convincing therapist, with the crap he was spewing. No one would listen to him long enough for him to need to lie.

He was also much more level headed than the tiefling cleric.

The muscle she found was perfect. They didn’t even have to lie, really, because she only told them what they needed to know. Well, the human woman was perfect. And tall. And gorgeous. Beau could deal with the rather annoying purple tiefling she worked with.

Probably.

He was only driving her a little insane.

Well, he was a fucking asshole, but his companion was worth it.

Fake patient number two was harder to find. Beau needed someone really deranged, with decently powerful magic, and willing to get drugged and thrown in a room with a completely unstable wizard with a proclivity for fire. Dairon eventually found the perfect individual for her. Beau came into her room at the Cobalt Soul to find both the strange monk and a goblin.

Dairon said this “Nott” was willing to do just about anything for resources only available at the Cobalt Reserve. So Beau had been living with the goblin for the past week, plotting together with her almost every night. Nott had a knack for acquiring the strange magic items Beau needed too, so she wasn’t asking questions.

Nott seemed to appreciate that, and they worked well enough together.

All in all, she had assembled what she hoped would be the perfect team. They were kind of a disaster, but so was she. Before they started the plan, most of them needed to go over the plan again. The night before they began the operation, they gathered on the top floor of the Grim Shelf Inn and Tavern, where most of them had been staying, before the plan started.

Beau sat in the blue tiefling’s room, cross legged on the floor, and started to go over the information one last time, “Okay, so tomorrow we’re going to be breaking into one of the most important facilities in the Cerberus Assembly, the Vergesson Sanatorium. This place is brutal, and almost everyone there was deemed a danger to themselves or society and is being kept there against their will. We’ve gotten reports of them using unsanctioned forms of restraints instead of fixing how understaffed they are. Over the years we’ve gotten bits and pieces about how the place is hazardous to all of its patients, physically and psychologically.

“It’s where Trent Ikithon’s laboratory is. He’s the Assembly’s Archmage of Civil Influence for the Dwendalian Empire, the guy in charge of Empire propaganda and constructing the face of the empire in upper echelon circles. We’re pretty sure he’s using the patients to experiment on, and has been for years. Because they’re not recognized as credible witnesses, no one has ever been able to build a case against Ikithon.”

Beau looked around at her assembled group.

The blue tiefling, Jester, piped up, “That’s the guy we’re after, right? Icky thong?”

“Yup,” the firbolg, Caduceus, confirmed, the one who had been with Beau the longest. “What did the anonymous tip say again?”

The monk nodded as well, “We got a tip that he has been basically torturing the kids that he turns into the Scourgers, the ‘Volstrucker’ bastards that are like his little puppets.”

“Tortured?” The purple tiefling, Mollymauk, frowned, sitting forward in his seat. “Like how?”

“The tip was from two of the scourgers themselves. Said that there were three picked by Trent from a town called Blumenthal. Bren Ermendrud and two unknowns, but most likely our two informants. They started at the Soltryce Academy until Trent took them for personal training. He did experiments on them. To make them stronger he had them force magic crystals into their arms,” Beau said, looking at the paper on the bed before her.

The half orc, Fjord, grimaced, “That’s awful.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” Beau said, going on, “It says here that he would bring in people who were ‘traitors to the Empire’ and force the kids to torture them to death.”

“Kids?” Yasha, the tall human asked. Beau was starting to wonder if she had something else in her blood. She was crazy tall. Thinking about that wasn’t helping her focus, however.

Beau just nodded, “Fifteen when it all started is what it says here.”

“Fuck,” Molly mumbled, “fifteen years old?”

Silence fell over the room, until Beau cleared her throat. “Yeah, this Trent guy is a real fucking creep. There’s more too.”

“There’s more?” Jester asked, looking like she might be about to cry. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this. Well, she was supposed to act crazy, so maybe it would be fine. Hopefully.

She had to be okay; she was the linchpin of the whole plan. They needed her in there to give Bren back his memories. Jester would just have to deal with it. Sighing softly, Beau went on, “As a final test, Trent made these kids think their parents were traitors. Had them kill their own family.”

The firbolg made a quiet prayer to the Wildmother and Beau frowned, “Yeah, it’s fucking terrible. But none of that Wildmother shit in the Sanatorium though. She’s not a sanctioned deity in the Empire, remember? I don’t actually give a fuck, but do it on your own time.”

He nodded, putting the symbol tucked away under his shirt. “Apologies. I’ll do my best not to forget,” Caduceus said.

“Right,” she looked at Molly and Yasha, the two that didn’t get to hear the entire plan, “So our goal is to get in there and speak with this kid,” Beau pulled out the sketch. “Bren Aldric Eremendrud. I guess he’s not quite a kid anymore, but whatever.” She frowned, realizing that he was older than her.

Passing around the sketch, Beau went back to her notes, “A little over five years ago, the thing with their parents happened. The two other kids from Blumenthal did it, and so did Bren. Bren set his childhood home on fire and blocked the door with a wagon. But afterwards he snapped. Tried to go in and save his parents, and when the other two tried to stop him, he burned them.

“They dragged him to the Vergesson Sanatorium, and that’s where they’ve been keeping this kid for the past ten years, drugged out of his mind.”

Mollymauk and Jester shuddered at the thought. Beau lifted a brow at the two tieflings. Jester she had begun to suspect this from. Molly was supposed to be the muscle. That might not bode well, but she really wanted Yasha on their team. It would have to do.

“You two,” she pointed at Molly and Yasha, “your goal is to protect Jester and Nott. Understood?”

“Understood, unpleasant one,” Molly grinned. “Yasha and I will be hired muscle, looking after Jester and Nott when we can. No one splits off completely from the group.”

Beau looked them over again. “Right. You’ll take shifts that will overlap mid-day. They’ll be long ass shifts, but you’ll have nine hours to yourself each night to rest and a break mid-day before the other goes home.”

“I’ll be taking the evening shifts,” Molly said, looking over to Yasha.

It was hard to believe her deadpan voice but she said, “Because I’m the morning person.”

“And as long as there’s gold at the end of it, I don’t care about long shifts,” Molly shrugged. “You’ve got the gold, right?”

“You know I do. And you’ve got your stuff?”

They both waved around their equipment, rings that protected against magical effects and a healthy stash of healing potions.

“And the swords?” Beau still really wanted to know where the hell Nott got the retractable swords, but the goblin girl wouldn’t tell her. Yasha clicked the thing that looked mostly like a flashlight and it turned into a five foot greatsword.

Not to be left out, Mollymauk pulled out the two syringes that turned into scimitars.

Beau nodded as Jester clapped at the display. She was pretty sure those two were trustworthy just because they hadn't run off with the weapons at their first chance. "Remember, Yasha, that sword can also dispel magic shit. So if someone charms you or Molly, use that, and get the fuck out of there."

Yasha nodded back, putting the weapon away while Molly did the same with a ridiculous flourish.

Beau said, “Alright. Since you two can’t lie for shit, get out. We’ll let you in on the rest of the plan when the time comes, but for now you answer to me or Jester.”

“So long as there’s still gold in the mix, you’ve got a deal,” Molly said, sticking out a hand for her to shake.

“If anything goes wrong, you can say goodbye to all that fucking gold,” Beau frowned at him, trying to look severe.

“We’re clear,” Mollymauk said, rolling his eyes as the muscle went off to their own room in the Cobalt Soul. Or, most likely, to wait for her down at the bar. Not very discreet, but they wouldn’t be under any scrutiny until tomorrow, she hoped.

Beau sighed as she waited for them to leave the room. Dairon probably should have gotten someone else to do this, but the worst it could be was another dead end. No one she hired actually had any ties to the Cobalt Soul. She could go deep undercover and they could cover it all up if things got too fucked up.

Probably.

Worst case scenario, she created another rift between the Cobalt Soul and the Cerberus Assembly. That wasn't something she could really make worse, no matter how hard she tried.

Once they’d left she turned to Nott, “I know you can’t lie for shit either, so if anyone asks you anything, just don’t talk. You’re supposed to be a crazed patient anyways. Hell, you can attack them if you want.”

“I can do that,” Nott nodded, grinning so wide it was unsettling.

Beau turned to the others, “Now, our real goal is to get in there, posing as staff or patients, and get Bren out of there while getting all the intel and evidence against Trent that we can. But if anyone can act as a star witness in a case against Ikithon, it’s Bren. The tip said he’s had his memory tampered with, which is where the clerics come in.” Beau waved to Jester and Caduceus. “You guys know what you’re supposed to do?”

“Act as a crazy old magic woman under heavy protection by the Cobalt Soul, work my way up to getting close to Bren, cast Greater Restoration on him, and convince him to come with us!” Jester said, smiling. An odd thing to smile about, but whatever.

Caduceus let her finish, then spoke, “I’ll be posing as a specialist brought in by the Cobalt Soul to look after ‘Genevieve’ here, try and get some answers from her and whoever she interacts with. Which will hopefully be Bren.”

“I’ll be acting as your assistant, just so there’s always two people in the room,” Fjord said.

“Molly and Yasha will be doing the same,” Beau said, eyes flicking over to Nott.

“I’m Bren’s new roommate. I don’t mind being the only one alone, since I can defend myself pretty well. I’ll be reporting back to Beauregard, and I can ask for help like this,” the goblin pulled out a piece of copper wire and made a voice appear in Fjord’s mind.

The half-orc shuddered, squinting at Nott. “Now that’s weird.”

“Cool, right?”

Jester clapped, “I can do it too!” Fjord shivered again as she demonstrated, whispering to her copper wire about embarrassing things Beau couldn’t hear, but could judge based on Fjord’s flush.

“Yeah, yeah, very cool,” Beau nodded. She’d been on the other end of too many of those messages, between partnering with Nott and Jester. “I’ll be within the grounds every night to have a ‘check in’ with Trent or Ludinus or whatever lackey they send to talk about the patients. You can probably get me in range that way. Jester, I also expect you to check in once a day.”

Jester nodded, “Of course! I love sending people messages. Mine have a larger range, but can get heard out loud, so I’ll just sound extra crazy.”

“Try to keep it to when you’re alone or just with Yasha or Molly. There are some people interested in this operation too, who will turn a blind eye, but you won't be able to tell who they are. Plausible deniability for everyone and all. I’ll do my best to get you out of there once you cast the spell on Bren, but you’ll have to stay for a while just to make everything look legit.” Beau wasn’t ecstatic about this part of the plan, but if shit hit the fan, the more people inside the Sanatorium the better. The last thing she wanted was all of the people she hired drugged out of their minds and used as more of the Cerberus Assembly’s experiments.

It was going to be one hell of a mission, but they had figured out most of it. Jester could go in as a patient with a bit of a disguise since she was avoiding someone who might run in these circles. And blue tieflings were rare enough, but if they were traveling away with a purple and blue tiefling, they’d be the most conspicuous group in the entire Empire. Spells wouldn’t cut it, but she had a ring that would work well as long as the only people dealing with her would be Mollymauk and Yasha. Hopefully no one would question why the old elven woman was insanely strong if they never got near her.

Caduceus and Fjord were equipped with an object that cast a version of the silence spell that kept conversations private, and Fjord assured her that he had ways of seeing if people were scrying on them or sneaking in, invisible.

Nott would be brought in a few days later, hopefully around the time that Bren would be behaving more “normally” and able to be taken out of solitary. Even if that information about the Sanatorium was false, he would be able to have another contact point. And Beau would have another person on the inside.

She knew they would be watched like hawks by everyone there, but healing some of the rift between the Cobalt Soul and the Cerberus Assembly would hopefully be too promising to pass up on. Ikithon had been on their shit list for years, so asking him for help, as if they would owe him a favor, had to sound good.

Every part of her wanted to go in there with them, but she wasn’t exactly the _best_ liar, as much as she hated to admit that, and she needed someone to act as the face of the operation. Someone who could act as a representative of the Cobalt Soul and get the rest of them in the door.

It helped that there was a fair amount of gold on the line for getting Ikithon out of the way. Beau was playing a few hands, doing this as an assignment for a few other members of the Cerberus Assembly. Members that would probably get taken down with Trent, but Beau needed the gold to get this ridiculous team of mercenaries assembled.

Luckily they all seemed pretty trustworthy.

At least they had all been willing to take a punch so she could knock the truth out of them. And if the people she hired weren’t able to take a punch, much less a consensual one, she didn’t know if they were worth the effort. They'd each done some work that random members of the Cobalt Soul had been able to vouch for, even though most of them came from the Cobalt Reserve in Port Damali.

That and after Caduceus had joined he offered his weird “make everyone tell the truth for a few minutes” spell. He informed her that everyone was pretty much willing to do whatever they needed to for the gold, especially since they were working to take down some corrupt forces.

That was all she really needed to know. That was the Soul’s whole thing.

“So is everyone clear on the plan?” Beau asked, looking around the room. 

Jester smiled, “Crystal!”

Fjord and Caduceus just nodded serenely. Beau thought they passed pretty well as partners already.

"Caduceus, you've got your extra diamond dust, in case anything goes wrong?"

He said, "Sure do, and this, just in case." Caduceus lifted out a large diamond, watching Jester's eyes go wide for a moment. "No one will get hurt, if I can help it." 

“I certainly hope so. And Jester you’ve got your ring?” she asked.

The blue tiefling giggled as she turned into an old elven woman and cackled maniacally. “Do I look crazy enough?” she asked, her eyes just as crazy as normal, but somehow made worse with the wiry gray hair.

“Sure do, weirdo. Fjord and Caduceus, you’ve both got those silence stones?” Beau turned to them.

Fjord waved his in the air, leading Caduceus to follow suit. “Right here,” Fjord said, tucking it back in his pocket. “And I’m all set to see whatever creepy invisible stuff that might scry or spy on us.”

Beau nodded at him and took a deep breath. The Cerberus Assembly assholes already thought everyone at the Cobalt Soul were hippie weirdos. This wasn't that far from the norm, in some places. She’d planned as much as she could, given their shitty information. It wasn't the best plan, for sure, and they hadn't been able to go over every detail in depth, but it was what they had time for. And the meeting Dairon had managed to get her was with Ikithon tomorrow, to help contain her "unstable patients" that could no longer be kept at the Cobalt Soul. There was no time to do anything else.

They were as ready as they’d ever be, given all the constraints.

Beau looked around at the group she'd assembled again. Dairon trusted her too much. She probably should have asked them for more time, but it was too late for that.

Tomorrow they would be descending into hell, and hopefully dismantling it completely on the way down.

But Beau knew the devil was watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic will update Wednesdays back and forth with Bren/Caleb's POV next, then switching off with him and the rest of the M9! for some reason I decided the chapters kind of correlated to the first few cards of the major arcana, so that's why it's structured like this...
> 
> comments & kudos give me instant serotonin <3


	2. I - The Magician: Manifestation, resourcefulness, power, inspired action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are strange new people in the Sanatorium today, but there are many things that Bren does not understand

### Bren Aldric Ermendrud

Bren’s days were foggy, clouded by his drug addled state. He knew the routine, for the most part. Lately there was more pain.

The man, Ikithon, was starting his experiments again. His arms itched, but if he scratched at them they would keep him restrained. He hated the straitjacket more than anything.

The girl, the woman now, Astrid, whispered to him when she thought no one was listening. Told him that help would come.

He hated her now. He loved her, but he hated her.

He couldn’t remember why.

In the common room he watched some of the patients who were here voluntarily were playing cards. He couldn’t scratch his arms, even when the blood soaked through the bandages. It only made it worse.

There were new people here today.

Someone, a young woman, was talking with Ikithon and D'aleth. He shrank further into his seat, trying to avoid the man’s glare. Ikithon didn’t seem interested in him today, which was a blessing. Or it might have been, if any god existed that hadn’t abandoned Bren long ago.

The woman came back a few hours later with more people. Strange people. There was an old elven woman, being watched by a tall human, no an aasimar, and a purple tiefling. Despite the familiar uniforms of an orderly, the purple tiefling did not belong here.

None of them belonged here.

They were wrong.

He couldn’t focus well on the group over the screaming in his ears.

Leofric. Una.

Flames.

Ash filled his mouth.

Before he could panic, before he could do much of anything, he was hauled up to his feet. Bren’s stomach filled with dread. There was little other reason for him to be taken from his seat in the common room.

The purple tiefling caught his eye as he was dragged away, and he couldn’t quite parse out the expression on his face. It was strange.

He was strange.

He was wrong. Didn’t belong.

Orderlies dragged him, limp, as he would offer no help, all the way to the room. A shabby, large stone room that Bren knew better than his own cell, deep in the basement of the Vergesson Sanatorium. He was strapped into one of the three wooden chairs, leather biting into his skin as his bandages were ripped off and he was overcome with the need to itch at the scabbed over wounds.

The rolling tray beside him with the few metal instruments had today’s crystals sitting on it as well. There were eight crystals for this session. So much for Ikithon not being interested in him today. Dread roiled in his stomach, but he schooled his face into an emotionless mask. He would show no pain, no pleasure, no power, and he would be thrown back in the common room or his cell.

Astrid came in first, Ikithon following behind a few minutes later.

Before he entered, there was a strange glint in the woman’s eyes. She spoke strangely, as she often did when she was distracting the old man. But they both knew they would have no privacy here, not under the soft torchlight of this horrible room.

Ikithon situated himself at the back of the room, a mage hand poised to hold a notebook up for him. A quill that never ran out of ink rested in his hand and a disinterested look occupied his face at all times. He hadn’t done the experiments himself in ages. Not since before Bren broke. Not since before…

Bren couldn’t afford to go down that mental pathway. Not when he needed to steel himself against the coming pain.

“Proceed.” Ikithon’s voice was just as disinterested as his expression, though his quill was already flitting over the page, taking extensive notes.

Astrid made the first incision and inserted the first set of crystals without hesitation. Her face was hidden behind the same mask that Bren wore. He could not hate her for the pain, as he knew there was a time where he might have done the same. Perhaps.

He thought he used to love her.

He did not think she had ever truly loved him. She would not continue to make the incisions this way, if she had.

She inserted the remaining crystals into his forearms methodically, not reopening any old wounds. Soon they will need to. He was running out of unmarred skin.

Bren grit his teeth and let her do it, staring at the floor two feet in front of him.

After she was done, she placed a handful of hay right in front of him, where he had been staring at the floor. “Set it on fire, Bren.”

Once he failed he would be let go. He could stop the dull pulsing pain of the green crystals.

He could never cast with all the drugs in his system. But one day he had managed to make sparks. And now they tested him like this, almost every week.

Bren stared at the pile of hay, tried to cast the simple cantrip that would set it ablaze. He could feel the power coursing through him as his blood seeped into the wood grain of the chair.

A small curl of flame left his palm, and Ikithon stood up straighter.

Tears brimmed on the edges of Bren’s eyes. It was working. More pain was working and he would be stuck here again. He could hear the dull drip of his blood against the floor.

Ikithon was paying closer attention to him now. “Again.”

Perhaps… Perhaps he could please the man, then the pain would stop.

It was a fool’s errand, pleasing him. Bren had known that much for years. The tears threatened to spill.

He aimed his palm at the hay, but only sparks appeared. Bren spoke the words again, to no avail. Now there was nothing.

The snap of Ikithon’s notebook closing made him jump and almost, _almost_ set the tears brimming over the edge. The man stormed out of the room, leaving Bren and Astrid alone.

A shuddering breath left Bren’s chest as Astrid carefully started to remove the crystals, now partially spent and soaked in blood. Each one made a soft clink sound as she placed it back on the metal rolling tray.

“You did well, Bren. He’s pleased.”

He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Next time I’ll bring you a healing potion,” she mumbled, wrapping fresh bandages tightly around his arms.

Bren knew that was a lie. Ikithon wanted him in pain, not healed.

Astrid, for all her strangeness, would never go against the old wizard’s wishes.

The orderlies threw him back in his chair in the common room, surrounded by the other patients yet again. The new people were still there, but he paid them little mind.

He had to focus every second of his being on not letting the pain overwhelm him. The current agony of every movement of his arms, and the future pain he knew was to come. Ikithon’s plan was working, and Bren was as miserable as a drug addled man with little ability to form coherent thoughts could be.

Staring down at the floor Bren adopted his mask, waiting quietly until the time that he would be locked back up in his cell. Where he could gasp and sob in peace.

His arms itched.

Scratching at his arms made them bloom with fresh pain, but he could not stop.

Hands clasped either side of his face. He frowned, stopping the scratching at his arms. This was new. This was real. Real like the pain.

Bren said nothing, but focused on the face before him. It was the old elven woman from earlier. Something about her seemed off. Her hands were freezing and soft. She was speaking, but he couldn’t focus on her words over the pain he was swimming through. Or perhaps it was the haze of the drugs that kept Bren from understanding her words.

Then he recognized something.

Her voice, though it was difficult to tell when it was forming the syllables around strange arcane words, was much more youthful than her face. One of her hands dropped from his cheek and touched a small pouch on her waist full of glittering powder.

She wasn’t allowed to have that. No one was allowed to have spell casting components in here. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Bren wondered how she snuck it in, or who gave it to her.

Through the haze, Bren recognized that she was casting a spell on him. Different from his own, though he wasn’t allowed to cast outside that stone room. He didn’t mind that. His hands were weapons. His hands had blood on them. His hands were covered in ash. The fact that they were traitors did nothing to dull the pain.

The powder disappeared and Bren thought vaguely that he should attempt to counter her attempts at a spell.

Then the veil lifted. No more haze.

He could remember everything.

The real, the fake, _everything._

For the first time in what must have been more than ten years, his mind was under the influence of no spells, no drugs, nothing.

“Get her off him! That’s one of Master Ikithon’s favorites!” the guard, the one with the necklace, barked, and before he could even ask a question, the purple tiefling and the aasimar were dragging the old woman away. The old woman started rambling at them, not really trying to hurt either of the two, but sent a wink Bren’s way.

He gulped as it all snapped into terrifyingly clear focus.

He had to get out of here. 

Bren would need a necklace from the guard. An Amulet of Proof against Detection and Location would not be easy to acquire if he did manage to escape. The guard would not give it up willingly. He would have to kill him to make it out.

But he wanted freedom. He wanted the chance to have Trent Ikithon pay for every moment of pain he’d been through.

He looked at the aasimar and the purple tiefling. Neither of them had one, which meant they weren’t Ikithon’s. That was strange. For a moment he made eye contact with the purple tiefling. A bloom of colorful tattoos spread up his neck and curled around his cheek. It was the look in his eyes that struck Bren the most. He looked at Bren with more than pity; he looked like he felt Bren’s pain. Like he truly sympathized with him.

A feeling twisted in Bren’s gut. A feeling Bren had never been more sure of.

That was not a real orderly. He would bet anything the aasimar wasn’t either. Perhaps the old elven woman wasn’t even a real patient.

But what the hell did that _mean?_

Feeling more spontaneity in his bones than he had in ages, he rose and followed them. A firm hand caught his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He hissed in pain, the wounds still bleeding fresh. At least with Astrid’s careful touch there were no left over shards he would have to pick out tonight.

“We’ll get him back to his room.” The purple tiefling confirmed all of his suspicions. There was no way in hell they were real orderlies.

“You’re the new guys from the Cobalt Soul?”

“That’s us. We’ll keep either of them from making any more trouble.”

The guard looked the group over. “Whatever. I’ll be in the back if he starts anything.” The guard assigned to watch over him had to leave for frequent smoke breaks, something Ikithon probably would have killed him for if he knew. If Bren had been in any position to say something, he might have, just to see the bastard suffer.

But he wasn’t focused on that, not now.

The aasimar shifted, holding the elf in a more comfortable manner while the purple tiefling moved behind Bren. The gentle touch on his shoulder was the softest touch he’d felt in over a decade, other than Astrid.

And her touches were all tainted by other memories.

“Come in here.”

He was directed into a different cell than his own, along with the three strangers.

The old elven woman was released then, stepping in front of him and looking at him intensely. “Bren, what do you remember?”

“I… I…” Bren couldn’t bring himself to say what he’d done.

His parents were innocents. The people he tortured might have been innocents too, but little compared to how he’d slaughtered his own loving family. His parents had been so proud of him, so excited for him to go to the Soltryce Academy. His father, the soldier, was so pleased that he would be able to serve the empire. His mother, her kind eyes burned into Bren’s perfect memory.

His mouth filled with ash and his lungs heaved, full of smoke and slowly choking the life out of him. His breaths heaved as he stared at the scene in front of him, no longer an old woman staring down at him, no longer in a dark stone room.

All he could see was fire.

All he could hear was their screaming.

It was all his fault.

The tears that had been brimming around his eyelids since the crystals entered his body spilled out uncontrollably. Bren sank to his knees, letting the pain take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic updates every wednesday!
> 
> comments & kudos are my lifeblood <3


	3. II - The High Priestess: Intuition, sacred knowledge, divine feminine, the subconscious mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jester wasn’t expecting Bren to look so… empty.
> 
> Even after she cast Greater Restoration and some of the light came back to his eyes, he looked lost and ungrounded.

### Jester Lavorre

Jester wasn’t expecting Bren to look so… empty.

Even after she cast Greater Restoration and some of the light came back to his eyes, he looked lost and ungrounded.

But he followed them, which was a good sign.

She wasn’t even supposed to do this so soon, but he hadn’t listened to her at all when she talked to him. How was she supposed to get closer to him, earn his trust, when he didn't even care when she poked him? Maybe she wasn't the best at making big decisions under pressure, but he didn’t stop her when she touched his hand, or his face. So she just went for it, and now he was following them like a lost puppy. It was better, if still unsettling. As soon as they were alone in the room that would be her holding cell, she asked him, just to make sure that her spell had worked, “Bren, what do you remember?”

That got through to him, a spark of life very apparent in those deep blue eyes. “I… I…”

She wasn’t expecting him to sink to his knees, tears brimming over his eyes and whimpers racking through his body as he tried not to cry. “Whoa, there. You’re-You’re okay. We’ve got you,” she said, slowing his fall by holding his shoulders. He was thin under the hospital whites; Jester probably could have carried him out of here alone. And she was tempted.

Jester didn’t see how this man could be a danger to himself and others. She just saw a man who looked _broken._ Immediately she sank to her knees as well, wrapping him up in a hug that he didn’t return.

He started _sobbing_ and Jester’s heart broke in her chest as she mumbled soft nothings, rubbing his back and trying to emulate all the kindness of her mother. “You’re okay, you’re safe with us, yeah?”

Mollymauk moved around behind him, gently resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s a lot, getting all your memories back like that. I wouldn’t want it to happen to me. Do you want to be hugged right now?”

Surprised, Jester pulled back, “Oh, right, sorry-”

Bren wasn’t answering them, just staring down. “I don’t deserve to be comfortable. To be safe. To be alive. I’m a murderer. A disgusting person-”

Jester almost whimpered, pulling him back into the unreturned hug. “No! You didn’t do it, Tre-”

“Maybe we shouldn’t say names like that here.” Yasha was standing by the door like a sentinel. Jester wasn’t sure about her. She seemed like she was emotionless, but there was something pained in her eyes. It was like she sympathized deeply with Bren, somehow.

“Right, right, sorry.” She winced again, “Oh, but I can at least heal you-”

“No,” Bren protested this time, pulling back with eyes wide with terror, “he’ll know. I’m supposed to be in pain.” He slipped further from her grasp until his back was against the wall, all the way looking like a cornered animal.

“Fucking hell,” Molly said, a positively murderous look in his eye. More and more, Jester was starting to like Molly, and not just because he was a fellow tiefling of a unique hue. She knew they were going to be best friends, if they ever got out of this terrible place. The uncertainty of that thought didn’t comfort her, so she abandoned it and looked back to Bren.

“It’s working. It’ll only get worse,” he mumbled, looking back down and scratching at the bandages when he realized she wouldn’t force him to accept the healing.

The blooms of red underneath made Jester’s blood boil. “What is he doing to you?”

“I deserve it. I deserve the pain. Disgusting person, garbage person, murderer…” he just went on muttering, not meeting her gaze. She wasn’t even sure he was speaking in Common anymore.

Jester’s hands trembled as she took his. “Bren, can you look at me?”

His eyes flashed up to meet hers for a moment before flicking back down to his knees. At least he was listening. At least he stopped scratching.

“I’m going to cast something that will make us all tell the truth. You can fight against it, but I’d like you not to, so we know we can trust you. Do you understand?” she asked. She didn’t feel this was strictly necessary, and had told Beau as much, but judging from how badly he’d been hurt it might have been a safer precaution than she’d realized. She’d never seen anyone hurt quite like this.

Bren nodded, allowing her to pull back and cast Zone of Truth around the room. No one fought it and she told him as much. “I’ll tell you if Molly or Yasha is lying too. I can feel it. Do you trust me?”

He looked up at her, taking a deep breath. “No.”

Her lip quivered just slightly and she grabbed his hands again. “That’s okay. That's okay, Bren. Do you trust _him?”_

His eyes widened a bit. “Nein. No.”

“You can trust us not to hurt you, Bren,” Molly said softly. “Tell him I’m not lying?” he turned to Jester and she nodded.

“He’s telling the truth. Oh, right and this is Mollymauk and Yasha, did I say that already? And I’m Jester, but they think my name is Genevieve. Well, my name really is Genevieve, but no one calls me that anymore, not even my mom-”

“We want to help you,” Yasha said, dead pan as ever, but there was no hint of deception or malice in her voice. Jester was surprised. Beau hadn’t even told these two that helping Bren was part of the plan, in case they were questioned. 

Bren looked at Jester for confirmation. She nodded again, more eager this time. Maybe he believed her.

“Yes, we want to help you. We want to get you out of here. Would you like that?” she said softly, holding his hands as gently as she could without releasing him so he could scratch at the open wounds under the bandages. Every fiber of her being told her to just heal him, grab this poor man and run, do their best and fight their way out. The Traveler would surely help her do that.

But that wasn’t the plan. Beau had stressed that to take this Ikithon down, things had to be done delicately. Jester knew that, and she knew that whoever had done this couldn’t be allowed to do it to anyone else. That and she’d already stretched the rules, talking about it with Molly and Yasha in the room. Those two seemed relieved at her words.

“I don’t deserve that.”

“That’s not the question. We want your help to stop him. Stop him from doing this to any other kids,” Molly spoke up, crouching beside her on the floor. “Do you _want_ to leave? To help us? To stop him?”

Bren swallowed, and his face turned into a stony mask that scared Jester more than the sobs. 

“Ja. Ich kann das machen.”

“I don’t speak… whatever that is,” Jester said.

Bren blinked. “I can do that.” He looked around at the three of them with the strange stony face. “What do you need from me?”

“For now, just act like everything is normal,” Molly said, standing him up and brushing away his tears. “We’ll get in contact with you. There’s three others, two men and a woman. You’ll know them when you see them. You seem smart.”

“If anyone asks you about us, you can tell them we’re weird. You don’t know what we’re doing here. That I seem crazy,” Jester said, standing up. "They're already suspicious of us, but they have no idea we're here for you."

He swallowed, looking at Molly carefully. “I can pretend nothing has happened. They will drug me again tomorrow morning.”

“We’re working on that,” Yasha said with a shrug. They needed to find the ins and outs of this place before they could really mess with anything. Yasha and Molly’s job would also be to act bored and observe as much as they could. Wandering and gathering information, whenever it was safe. And Jester had assured Beau that he'd be better for a while after the restoration, since the description of him sounded more like a psychotic break from the cognitive dissonance. Beau seemed so shocked at her assurance, and Caduceus's corroboration of the fact that Jester had almost been offended. She was a good cleric too.

Fjord and Caduceus would be carefully working with the other staff to figure out “Genevieve’s” ideal treatment. Jester shuddered at the thought of being drugged like Bren. “I can’t cast this spell again, but your memory should be fine as long as you don’t let anyone know what happened.”

“Ich kann- I can do that.”

Jester nodded, “Good, good. Now this is really important and I need you not to try to lie or evade the question. Otherwise we have to leave without you, yeah?” The fear that sprung up in his eyes made her heart lurch, but she knew this was important. “Will you tell anyone what we’re trying to do? Out loud, written, pictures, letting people read your thoughts, or something else? No one can know we’re here for you.”

“I will not communicate that information to any individual or group, if it truly means I can leave this place. I give you my word.” He said each word carefully like it was his best bet on survival. Jester didn’t like the thought that it was.

“Good. Now, come with me. You’ll have to tell me which room is yours. We’ve been gone too long already,” Molly said, putting a hand gently at Bren’s back to lead him back out into the thankfully empty hallway.

Yasha left the room, saying, “I’m going to watch the corridor. Holler if you get lonely.”

Curling up on the sterile bed with the itchy white fabric, Jester nodded. “Will do.”

This was going to be much harder than she thought. But at least she was allowed to act unusual here. She could talk with the Traveler all she wanted.

“Traveler, did you see that?” she asked, voice barely a whisper. No answer. “He needs your help. Our help, badly.”

No answer.

“Are you here with me? I don’t want to be alone in this place,” she whispered, though she knew Yasha was standing by, pretending to be her attending orderly in the hall. She wanted to help, to get this bad person into a place where he couldn’t do what he was doing anymore.

But this room was even darker and more dismal than the childhood bedroom that she had escaped.

“I’m always with you, Jester,” the smooth voice eased over her worries. “Though why on Earth you’re in _here,_ I couldn't say.”

“Didn’t you see Trent Icky Thong earlier? Have you ever seen someone so in need of a prank in your life?” she said, a slow grin spreading over her cheeks.

She wasn’t alone.

The deep voice rumbled through a laugh and she felt a squeeze around her shoulders. “True, true. I’ll be with you.”

“Thank you, Traveler,” she whispered, pulling out the soft sketchbook and pastels (nothing sharp and pointy) she was allowed to have and starting to draw the various things she had seen today. Beau talking with Trent, but making Trent look even more gaunt and awful, to match the insides, Yasha standing at the door in dramatic shadows, Molly’s tattoos… 

She thought about sketching Bren, but couldn’t think of a time when he hadn’t looked lost, terrified, or just utterly empty. Jester made up her mind to try and get him to smile, even if it was just so she could have something to draw. 

She pulled in the lining of her patient’s clothing and tugged out the small copper wire that they had smuggled in for her.

“Hey, Beau, first part of the plan went well. Spell was successful. How soon can we get out of here? It’s super creepy... Doot doot.” She was pretty sure that was twenty five words.

“Awesome job, Jester. Keep a low profile, and I’ll try and get you all out of there as soon as possible.”

Jester frowned. That didn’t answer her question. She hadn’t thought much about how long she would actually have to spend in this room, just about how much she wanted to help Bren and get Icky Thong behind bars. This room was far worse than her childhood bedroom, and she didn’t like being trapped, even if she could technically, probably, leave with the Traveler on her side. If he was in a good mood.

Molly came back then, slipping into her room and sliding down with his back against the wall and his eyes wide. “Holy fucking shit.”

Jester sighed softly, rolling over to look at Molly upside down in her bed, “You’re telling me. You should have seen his face when the spell took hold. He was… I don’t even know how to describe it. Empty? Lost? Hollow?”

The purple tiefling looked like he was repressing a shudder. “He didn’t get any better on the walk back. Worse almost, whenever he saw someone that wasn’t me it was like he was… a puppet or something. A husk. Nothing.”

Jester pulled the scratchy blanket around her shoulders. “Fuck.”

“I know. But once we were alone, he got a little better. Well, worse, then better. I got him to laugh once. And smile. Not out of actual happiness or anything, I don’t think, but it’s a start.” Molly was picking at the fraying edge of his uniform.

“Do you think he trusts us enough not to just tell Trent? I mean, he wasn’t lying, but I’m still worried about it. He seems smart enough to be able to get around it.”

Molly swallowed, “When I went in his room to talk with him he looked like he expected me to hit him half the time. Fucking heartbreaking. I can’t imagine he has any loyalty to the people here, but he might be scared enough to try and get around the spell.”

He sat down properly on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, “But I don’t think he will, just from what I saw today. He hates it here enough to try our way of getting out.”

Jester brightened. “Good!”

Molly sent a crooked smile her way. “This is pretty fucked though, huh?”

“So fucked.” She nodded, wide eyed. “Part of me wants to just grab Bren and run. Why aren’t we doing that again?”

“Beau said something about that old bastard having too much time to plan and discredit Bren as a witness. If we can get him out of here without him suspecting us, if he just thinks Bren escaped, the Cobalt Soul will have enough time to make sure he doesn’t cover his tracks and gets what’s coming for him.” Molly said, “But I get what you mean. I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand watching them torture that poor bastard.”

Jester nodded, chewing her lip and unsure of anything to do. In an absence of any concrete plan she grabbed her sketchbook and started to draw Mollymauk, leaning up against the wall. It was nice to be with another tiefling after such a long time on the road with only Fjord.

Beau, Yasha, Caduceus, and Nott seemed fun too, but it was just pleasant to be around someone with horns. Nott would become her next door neighbor soon, and once Bren started acting a little better, he would join Nott. Hopefully they could keep a closer eye on him and make a decent plan now that they were inside.

It seemed necessary, but she wasn't looking forward to it.


	4. III Empress: Femininity, beauty, nature, nurturing, abundance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bren tries to figure out what the hell is going on

### Bren Aldric Ermendrud

These people were here to help him escape, and though he had his own plans for doing so, their methods might be better than his own. Safer than his own.

They had their own selfish reasons for wanting him free, and that was his best bet on success at the moment. He could put some faith in selfishness. Bren understood selfishness well.

He also was loath to kill the guard for his necklace, though he had caused him enough agony to deserve it at this point. How was he to know whether or not he had been manipulated as well? How was he to kill him? Set him ablaze like his parents?

Did Bren not deserve every ache and pain and bruise?

He would wait.

Bren would go back to his cell and he would wait.

The purple tiefling brought him out of the cell without the aasimar and the old elven woman, a careful hand on his back. The kind way they handled him made him wonder if it was real. He didn’t want to hope, but no one Ikithon associated with was half as gentle.

These people were all quite strange. Normally the staff of the Sanatorium was human, or occasionally an elf. They were chosen by Ikithon himself, or at least he had the final say. Neither of these individuals would have made the cut. The aasimar’s choice in makeup was strange and she was too physically imposing. If she threatened Ikithon, he might have had to listen.

The purple creature wouldn’t have made the cut in any circumstances. Of course there were no explicit rules against tattoos; there couldn’t be. Not when the older Volstrucker were on the way to having their odd maze like tattoos perfected. Yet still, the experiments continued. In his clearer state of mind Bren wondered if it was truly just to cause him pain.

The hallway was empty save a wandering guard at the end of the corridor, walking away from them. Still, he kept his emotionless mask on. No sense in betraying any sense of hope when he wasn’t yet sure there was one.

They descended into the building, lower and lower, passing rooms that made Bren’s arms itch just to think about them. He wondered how they could know everything about his life and still not know the details of what Ikithon did behind closed doors. But it mattered little if they could help him ensure never being behind one with that man ever again. He would do anything. With his sanity now, he could manage, no matter what.

In silence they marched through the stone hallways, the strange orderly who wasn’t an orderly's shoes reverberating against the tiles as they moved, unlike Bren’s slipper clad feet. He wasn’t sure how they thought he would manage to hurt someone with a shoe, but knowing him, he’d manage.

If it was a leather shoe he might have been able to cast freedom of movement. If he’d ever had that spell. Or levitate. Perhaps they were worried he would attack them and then armor himself.

To be fair, that wasn’t _that_ off base.

They kept walking, descending the small staircase to the rooms for solitary confinement and Bren’s breath caught in his throat.

_Astrid._

She would know immediately. 

She would tell Ikithon.

She would help him wipe away Bren’s memory and he would be trapped again.

Perhaps this time they wouldn’t be as kind, perhaps they would cast Feeblemind or something similar to lock away his brain with only the knowledge of his greatest mistakes to keep him company, perhaps this time they would snap and just kill him.

That would be a mercy.

One he didn’t deserve.

Under his mask, his fingers began to shake. What punishment would this entail?

But Astrid’s expression, her own passive mask, cracked a moment.

Bren saw relief on her face.

She _wanted_ this.

She’d wanted him to get this help.

Did she call these people here? How could she possibly have managed that?

If this was some scheme of Ikithon’s why would she seem relieved?

What was happening?

He saw the curl of copper wire in her fingers and felt the tiefling’s hand tense upon his back. Those purple fingers were warm against the cold air of the hallway, dissonant from everything this place should be. He needed to ask what had happened, but wouldn’t have the chance.

Bren inclined his head to show which cell was his and the tiefling, Molly, Jester had said, or Mollymauk, got the door open for him and slipped inside.

Bren cringed away from that. An orderly wanting privacy was never good. The Sanatorium attracted cruel individuals who had no power to abuse in other parts of their lives.

He should set this man on fire and run. He should bring forth the fire from his veins and bolt before they gave him his daily dose of drugs tomorrow morning. No desire burned brighter in him than to get the hell out of this place before he could be reduced to a muddled mess yet again. But if Astrid had some part in this… He couldn’t risk the disobedience.

Perhaps this was all a scheme to punish him for daring to escape. He would deserve that.

But he needed to get out of here and letting this strange purple tiefling beat the living daylights out of him probably wasn’t the right direction to go in, at least in terms of escaping. Of course he deserved every ounce of pain the universe decided to send his way. 

Of course, the tiefling might not even die. Just get distracted enough to let Bren escape, since tieflings were fire resistant.

And now he would never forget. Ikithon would have to waste an astronomical amount of spells erasing these memories, as he would be dwelling on them for hours before anyone realized. Whispering them to himself, over and over. He wasn’t sure if that was how the spell worked, but he could cling to that, for now.

He would hold these memories with him forever, as long as he lived, even if it wasn’t going to be that long.

The longer he thought about it, the more he was sure that Astrid must know about their parents. She was far too clever not to have figured it out. As much as Bren wanted to delude himself of that fact in this moment, he knew better.

Poor Wulf.

He had long since stopped coming to watch Bren get experimented on. Bren was grateful for the lack of the pitying looks, but had missed the tether to reality. Adrift, Astrid was the only one who had looked on him with any kindness, but every look was punctuated by the memory of a scalpel, a twisted crystal embedded in his arm.

She would have told Wulf. They would have rationalized it together, in their pursuit of their own power. He could understand the reasoning, he could almost forgive them, but the screaming was too loud for him to think of any rationalization or compartmentalization of his own horrific misdeeds.

But what was her part in this escape plan? Nothing made sense and his mind couldn’t reconcile all the warring ideas inside.

The screams pierced through him with a shudder. Knowing he had killed his parents had broken him. Knowing they were truly innocents who loved him dearly was too much.

Around him the room faded, slowly consumed by bright oranges and reds. No longer could he see the stone cell, the shoddy cot lying in the corner, the filthy chamberpot, the stark emptiness of the small space, the burn marks on the walls and bed frame.

There was someone talking to him that he couldn’t focus on. It was too quiet over the screaming.

His vision was a field of flame and fire. Since the drugs had been cleared from his system he could see it all more clearly, hear the piercing screams of his mother and father, trapped inside the burning house.

Leofric and Una Ermundrud of Blumenthal.

So proud of their only son.

His father the soldier. His mother, the epitome of kindness.

The memories washed over him like a plume of fresh smoke, threatening to choke him. There was nothing to do but let the smoke and flames take him.

There was nothing but the screaming.

There was a strange pressure on his cheeks, not quite a slap but a light patting that made him frown. The purple tiefling was standing right in front of him, hands on either side of Bren’s face. “You with me, Bren?”

Screams faded from his attention, just slightly.

He swallowed, focusing on Mollymauk’s eyes. They were strange, unlike anything he had seen, deep red with no discernable iris or pupil. The closer he looked the more he wondered if they were completely different anatomically from his own, how they could contract and expand to take in more light. Was it different because tieflings had night vision? He had read that somewhere. Peering into them he could almost see the slight reflective layer shining like a cat’s eyes in the dim light of his cell. The more he looked the more he saw there was a slight gradient to the red, darkest in the very middle, directed right at him. It was hidden by the reflection of the light in the room, but it was hard to miss once Bren saw it.

Mollymauk was staring right into his eyes.

There was a hint of recognition and relief in the eyes as a crooked smile crossed the tiefling’s face. “Welcome back. Are you okay?”

“Sure,” he mumbled, surprised with how clear his voice was. He was almost on the edge of breaking down again, but his voice was strong, almost sarcastic. He worried a moment that this strange orderly who wasn’t an orderly wouldn’t take kindly to the tone and flinched.

Instead a brow raised and the smile twisted up more as he released his face and ran his hands down just to hold each shoulder. “Right, stupid question. Can I help at all?”

That was new. Bren hadn’t been allowed to joke with much of anyone in probably six years. Even with the fog cleared, he had too many overlapping memories to figure out exactly how long he had been in here.

Still, he knew that in all that time, no one had asked him how they could help. Of course, he wasn’t expecting it, and he certainly didn’t deserve it. But Bren needed them to help his escape.

“Get me out of here.”

“We’re working on it, trust me.”

_Trust me._

How was Bren supposed to trust this strange purple tiefling and his compatriots? But it still seemed like the most rational choice, at least for now. These strange people’s goals had aligned with him for a time. He could probably act more docile for a time, see if they would lower the dosage of his medication. Ikithon might be opposed, but it was possible that Astrid would convince him. Especially if she was hoping for this.

Especially if the crystals started working better. He could manage that.

“When you’re out in the common room, let Genevieve talk with you. We’re here looking after her, information she knows, so we’ll be able to talk to you about her. There’s two others, they’ll come get you. I can try to come too.”

He frowned, “Why would you come?”

“Familiar face?” Mollymauk shrugged.

A novel concept. Bren was surprised that it wasn’t an unwelcome one. This was the first individual with a kind touch in recent memory. Even Astrid’s occasional softness was always underlaid with the stinging pain of a remembered scalpel. The thought that he would watch over the session was a slightly comforting one.

Dangerous thoughts. It was dangerous to put his hope in another person. If he had learned anything from Ikithon besides his magic, it had been that.

“Was that one of the kids, in the hallway? One of the three?” he asked quietly, like they might be heard.

They might be, quite frankly, and whispering would do little to help them. “The three?”

“From… Shit what was the name of the town? The Zemni fields. The ones he picked, you and the other two, the informants-”

“Informants?” he breathed. More than one. Were Wulf and Astrid really trying to help him?

Why would they help someone weak like him? Someone who had failed, who broke?

“In the hallway, I think, she talked in my head? Like Jester? Told me to look after you. Not to hurt you.” Mollymauk frowned at him, brushing hair out of Bren’s eyes and keeping his hands on Bren’s shoulders.

His heart ached. After all these years and all the pain… He had nothing to say.

The tiefling seemed to take that as confirmation. “Can I bring you anything? I could probably smuggle something in here. Like water, fresh bandages, I can try to find whiskey or something.” 

Bren blinked, then let out a short laugh. It almost hurt his throat and was full of very little humor, but it was novel all the same. Could this day get any stranger?

He stepped away from the tiefling and sat on the edge of his small cot. The pain was getting to him, but he had no right to kick an orderly out of his room. He should ask this odd person to look for his spellbook. If it hadn’t been destroyed, he could probably level this entire building. But Trent probably had the thing under lock and key. An arcane lock that would slaughter this Mollymauk person in seconds.

He should ask this tiefling to bring him crystals, as many as he could find. If Bren could use them right before they gave him another dosage of whatever awful drugs they were pumping into his system, he could manage enough power to get out of here. But Mollymauk hadn’t offered that to Bren. He had offered whiskey, bandages, or water.

Things he wasn’t allowed to have, things that wouldn’t help him to begin with.

“Mollymauk, they will punish me if they find any evidence of that. They say they worry I will kill myself, but I can see in their eyes that they worry I will kill them,” he said plainly. This Mollymauk must have known him well to know all the details of his case. This tiefling had to know how ridiculous that was.

“You?” he asked, raising a brow.

Bren smiled, though it had been too long, he could feel the twist of his lips more manic than intended. In the back of his mind he wondered when the last time he smiled was. “If I wanted them dead, they would be dead.” The guards, at least. Not the ones who mattered. Not the ones who deserved to burn.

Mollymauk’s eyes drifted down to the fresh blood swirling beneath the bandages. There was a dark, intense look in his eyes. That was promising. That was a useful ally. That would be properly terrifying to whoever was on the opposing end. Bren almost smiled again.

Perhaps Bren would make it out of here after all, if these people hated Ikithon as much as he did. If Astrid was really helping them. If this was all a ploy for Ikithon, why tell the tiefling anything? Why bother? But how could she still care about Bren?

But then he asked, “Why haven’t you?”

He should know why. He should know that Bren should probably have been put to death long ago, only alive to suffer before he was dragged down to whatever circle of hell was reserved for parricide. But Bren could clarify the reasoning, explaining, “I deserve this pain. I didn’t know how much I deserved it before this afternoon, but I always knew this would be my lot in life.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Bren frowned at the determined set of the purple tiefling’s brow. That was unexpected. “I am a monster. You must know my story, if you are here with that other one.” There was no way they didn’t know what he’d done. Otherwise they wouldn’t know about the false memories.

This Mollymauk person knew everything he’d done, knew what would happen when they gave Bren back his memories, and still managed to say, “You’re not the villain of this story, Bren.”

“Life is not a fairytale, Mr. Mollymauk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic updates every wednesday!
> 
> comments & kudos are my supply of serotonin <3


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